


Where Do You Go?

by only_more_love



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Post-Canon, Sharing Clothes, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-01-30 20:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12660969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_more_love/pseuds/only_more_love
Summary: Theo needs a shower. (Takes place a few weeks after the Anuk-Ite is defeated.)





	1. "He was pointing at the moon..."

_So where do you go_  
_Oh, whenever you disappear_  
_I can't seem to find you when you slip into the night_  
_So where do you go_  
_I wanna follow you down, down_  
_Down where your secrets hide_  
_Won't you let me inside?_

— Flor, “[ Where Do You Go? ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KOYtUqxHkV4) ”

* * *

  
Being homeless sucked.

Because his body was caught in a perpetual cycle of sleep deprivation, Theo usually crashed into an exhausted sleep within a few minutes of his head touching the grey hoodie Liam had left in his truck one day. He hadn’t asked for it back, so Theo assumed he’d forgotten about it or didn’t need it. He wasn’t a thief; he hadn’t _stolen_ it from Liam, he rationalized. He just . . . hadn’t returned it—yet.

Instead, every night after he parked his truck in a dirt lot teeming with weeds and overgrown grass near an abandoned warehouse or somewhere else deserted, quiet, and therefore more likely to escape the sheriff’s department’s notice, Theo shaped the hoodie into a makeshift pillow, palms smoothing over the precise folds he created, memory flitting against his will to the beta with the earnest blue eyes and the mouth that tipped in a smile with as much ease as it curled in a scowl. No matter how fast he slammed shut the lid on images of those flashing eyes, it was never fast enough—never fast enough to keep out a dull ache in his chest and a sharp dip in his stomach.

Unless he was particularly unlucky and it rained, Theo never slept without cracking the car windows at least a half inch. On some nights a breeze thrust the scent of dew-brushed earth into the car; on others, he dozed off with molecules carrying the smell of heavy, smoke-tinged oak trees slowly seeping in and tickling his sensitive nose. Allowing just a bit of the outside air in kept his throat from closing up with a feeling of claustrophobia.

The unforgiving vinyl of the truck’s backseat didn’t make for the most comfortable bed, but it beat sleeping under a bridge, in a piss-stained alley, or worst of all, in an underground tunnel crowded with memories of slick, iron-tinged blood and a macabre symphony of screams echoing off walls that perpetually pressed in against him, against the boundaries of his skin and his mind—close and closer yet. Stifling. After his years with the Dread Doctors, if he never saw a tunnel again it would be too soon.

When he curled on his side and closed his eyes, pulling a thin, threadbare blanket up over his shoulder, the hoodie’s worn fabric felt soft under Theo’s face. And if, maybe, he sometimes rubbed his cheek against it like a cat brushing against its owner’s legs, well, there was no one there to see him and mock him for doing so. On the cusp of sleep, with his body tucked in and made as small as he could make it, Theo would pretend he heard the thrum of another heartbeat, felt the steady heat of someone else’s chest pressed against his back. Someone who smelled like fresh-cut grass warmed by a June afternoon sun.     

If the thump of a deputy’s fist against his car window didn’t force him awake only a couple precious hours into the night, lurid dreams of his sister whispering, “Theo . . .” while she stalked him on pale, bare feet with the end goal of ripping her stolen heart from his chest drove the sleep from his eyes.

The fatigue, though, remained.

What point was there in complaining about it to anyone? Or even dwelling on it in his own mind? Whatever the Dread Doctors had done to him, _he_ was still a killer. He, Theo, had chosen to kill, and not for reasons any decent person would deem justified. Certainly not the man whose life he couldn’t seem to stop saving.

Survival. There had been a time when he’d yearned for power. For uniqueness. For belonging, even. Now? Mere survival. That’s all Theo needed. That’s all he wanted. A glimpse of blue eyes and a stubborn chin materialized in his head. _Liar._ Survival might not be all he wanted, but if life owed him anything, it was that, and nothing more.

Sometimes, after Tara had chased him from sleep into wakefulness, Theo buried his face in the grey hoodie he’d kept and breathed, slow and deep, dragging the traces of Liam’s scent that still lingered into his lungs and holding them there until his rabbiting pulse slowed. Until his shaking limbs stilled and his claws and fangs retracted. Until his harsh, panting breaths no longer rent the sour air in the car, and the acid tide that warped and corroded his veins rolled back out. Leaving cold sweat sliding down Theo’s temples and prickling on the back of his neck and under his arms.

But just like the ocean tide it mimicked, the sensation of being hunted; of waiting for icy fingers to scrape his chest, receded only temporarily, always returning. Always.

* * *

  
Theo yawned, jaw cracking, and leaned his side against the fingerprint-smudged glass door to the gas station convenience store. A bell jangled as he stepped inside. Perfume, high alcohol content and smelling of something sickly sweet and artificial—cotton candy, maybe?— hit like a bomb; made his eyes water. Behind the checkout counter slumped a woman with shoulder-length brassy blonde hair and about two inches of black roots. At the sound of his throat clearing, she turned a page in the magazine held in her hands.

“Yeah?” Her eyes never strayed from the magazine.

“Could I borrow the bathroom key?” he asked.

“Not ‘less you plan on getting gas or buying something.” She frowned and twined a brittle chunk of hair around her finger, still without looking up.

Foregoing an answer, Theo rolled his eyes and moved closer, set his forearms on the edge of the counter, and waited. Thickly mascaraed blue eyes finally dragged up his arms, over his chest, stopped at his mouth—even though his skin chilled, Theo licked his lips very slowly and listened for the telltale increase in her heart rate—and traveled on to meet his gaze. Shoving aside how his stomach clenched at this conscious use of his appearance as currency, Theo forced his mouth to curl up in a smile that hinted at things he was never going to give. (He’d tack it to the ongoing tally of his crimes.) “Please.” One word, delivered soft, sincere, and just shy of flirty because of the calculated trajectory of his raised eyebrow.

Bam. _Mission accomplished_. For his effort, the woman rewarded him with a head tilt and a dazzling smile complete with a flash of yellowed teeth streaked with a smear of purple lipstick. “Sure, honey,” she said, and Theo tried not to flinch when she slid her fingers against his as she handed him the key she’d pulled from beneath the counter.  

“Thanks.” He backed away; she wiggled red-tipped fingers at him and leaned forward, making the v-neck of her shirt gape. He didn’t look.

* * *

  
Jade sucked my dick here, proclaimed a snatch of graffiti, complete with a helpful arrow, scrawled in hot pink on the bumpy beige wall of the gas station bathroom, and Theo pressed the heels of his hands against his dry, gritty eyes and wondered if he was back in hell. He worked to breathe through his mouth and minimize the chaos of odors that beat against his nose. The plastic baggie he pulled from his back pocket held a travel size tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush sporting sad, splayed bristles. He brushed as quickly as he could, then spat into the chipped sink, gaze jumping over the brownish spots splattered there. He really didn’t need to know what they were.

Lukewarm water gurgled and spat from the rusted faucet and left an unpleasant metallic taste he couldn’t ignore. But that didn’t stop him from drinking three handfuls of it from cupped hands before he splashed it over his face and let it run down his chin.

He yanked a rough, brown paper towel from the dispenser and used it to dry his face, then tossed it in the overflowing trash can to his left. Sandpaper would have been less abrasive. When he reached to pull out another paper towel, he found the dispenser empty. “Fuck.” Shaking his head, he grabbed several sheets of cheap, thin toilet paper, folded and wet them. Mouth twisted in a grimace, he lifted his shirt and Liam’s hoodie, which he’d layered over it because he’d felt cold, and swiped at his armpits.

He didn’t intend to catch his reflection in the warped mirror, but it happened anyway. He scrutinized his own image with a critical eye. Purple half-moons ringed his narrowed eyes. A few days’ worth of stubble shadowed his chin, jaw, and cheeks. “I look like shit,” he muttered. Head ducked, he sniffed his pits, grimace deepening as the ripe odor thwacked him over the head. _I smell like it, too._

Unfortunately, his hobo shower hadn’t done as much good as he’d hoped it would.

* * *

  
He waited until 11:30, when he knew Liam would be in school and his mother would be at work. Dr. Geyer’s schedule at the hospital was more unpredictable, so Theo tucked his truck into a cul-de-sac down the street from Liam’s house and walked the rest of the way, carrying his old, black duffel bag. Everywhere he looked he saw neat, two-story houses circled by trim, green lawns plucked, and no doubt chemically treated, to keep out unsightly weeds.

Though Liam’s mom and stepdad usually parked their cars in the driveway instead of in the garage, Theo didn’t assume they were out just because he didn’t see their cars. Upon reaching the front door, he trained his eyes over his shoulder to check if he’d been followed, by hunters or anyone else. Satisfied he hadn’t been tracked, he focused his enhanced senses on Liam’s home and scanned for heartbeats inside to confirm he was alone, before he lifted the red-hatted garden gnome to the right of the front porch and slid out the extra key he’d watched Liam fumble from there the night before when he’d forgotten his own keys inside the house.  

Liam might be impulsive and quick to anger, but he wasn’t stupid. Theo hoped he got lucky enough that if Liam caught his scent in the house once he came home later, he would be fooled into thinking it lingered there from when he’d hung out at Liam’s the previous night. They’d alternated watching _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ reruns with him staring at Liam while he shoveled slice after slice of Pizza Hut stuffed crust pepperoni pizza into his mouth. Splotches of tomato sauce had dotted Liam’s plush, pink lower lip, and Theo had bitten his tongue, tasting blood, in order to keep from reaching for the messy beta seated tantalizingly close to him and kissing him clean. Control and self-control were paramount; spending time with Liam brought Theo unnervingly near to relaxing his white-knuckle grip on both.

He’d planned to get in, shower, and leave. But his stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten anything yet, so he stopped in the kitchen. The idea of stealing food from Liam, who’d invited him into his house just last night, didn’t feel right.

A long, rectangular kitchen table topped with brown, glossy wood and flanked by a bench on one side and three chairs on the other sat slightly off-center in the large kitchen. Overstuffed cushions called to Theo; he lowered himself into one of the chairs and sighed, his whole body loosening. Hunger pangs rippled through his stomach again. A quick rifle through his duffel bag netted him a snack-size bag of salt and vinegar potato chips.

(Theo didn’t have much of a craving for sugar. Salt was more his speed. Especially salt and vinegar chips. There was just something about the lip-puckering combination of sour and salty that he couldn’t resist.)

At the moment, he could’ve gone for something with a little more protein, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. A few minutes later the bag lay empty on the table in front of him. Theo leaned back in his chair and slid his fingers into his mouth, one by one, the movements slow and precise, and sucked off the salt and crumbs. To his right sat a mostly-empty bowl of what looked like oatmeal with a sprinkle of mini marshmallows. He couldn’t imagine it belonged to either of Liam’s parents. A smile crept over Theo’s face.

Sunlight spilled through the gauzy curtains that hung over the big window at his back, warming his neck and shoulders. His stomach, well, it would be inaccurate to say it felt anywhere close to full. Still, the gnawing emptiness had been appeased by the chips . . . The kitchen was warm and quiet; Theo’s eyelids drooped. With his eyes shut, he blindly pushed away the empty packet and sagged forward. His crossed arms rested on the placemat on the table, and his head dropped onto his arms. _Just five minutes._ _Then I’ll shower and . . ._

A firm hand gripping the muscle between his neck and shoulder jerked Theo awake.

Theo leaped up, sending the chair he’d been sitting on clattering to the tile floor. A growl rumbled up from the cavern of his chest. Breathing hard, balanced on the balls of his feet, he shot his clawed hands in front of him.

“Dude, easy. It’s just me.”

_Liam._

“Hey,” Liam said, voice a touch softer now. “A little less ‘Grrr. Argh,’” he added, “would be good right about now. Put away the fangs and claws.”

Theo forced his claws and fangs to retract, then concentrated on slowing his breathing and his heartbeat. He turned away and righted the fallen chair, then folded his body back onto it, staring down at a dark knot on the surface of the wood table.  
  
The chair to his left scraped across the floor. Liam sat; the warmth from his body grazed Theo’s skin, making him want to curl against him and fall back asleep. That wouldn’t be weird, would it?

“Is that—? Are you—?”

“What, Liam? Just spit it out already,” Theo replied, his voice a tired echo in his ears.

“Theo, what are you doing here? And why are you wearing my shirt?”  
  
_Fuck._ Theo dipped his head to peek at his own chest, and almost groaned aloud. Almost. He was so fucked.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! What do you think? I would love to hear from you, regardless of whether you like this, hate it, or fall somewhere in-between.

I’m trying to build a habit of writing a little each day, so I was clicking through tumblr on Halloween, searching for a trigger. I stumbled on a post that asked what a character’s favorite candy was—the one that he’d pick out and save for himself. This story’s inspired by that post, which I would love to link to, only I can’t find it. :(

If you want to send me a prompt or fangirl with me about Liam/Theo @ tumblr, you can find me @ onlymorelove.tumblr.com.

 


	2. "but I was looking at his hand."

“Hmmm . . . Someone’s supposed to be in school. So why are you at home right now?”

Liam shrugged, and the side of his shoulder bumped up along Theo’s. “I felt like skipping bio.”

“Liam Dunbar played hooky?” Theo clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. “You juvenile delinquent, you. Someone’s been naughty.” He winked and shook a finger at Liam. “I like it. I'm almost impressed. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“What can I say?” A better man than Theo might not have noticed how broad Liam’s shoulders were as he spread his arms wide and shrugged in a questioning gesture. As it was, Theo knew he wasn’t a very good man at all. “I contain multitudes,” Liam said.

“Apparently,” Theo muttered under his breath.

“Now can we skip the witty banter and get to the point?”

He tried not to stare at Liam, really, he did, but the stupid navy shirt he wore drew Theo’s attention to his stupidly blue eyes like a magnet. “But I like the witty banter.”

“So do I. It’s kind of our thing, but . . .”

Before he could smother it, a spark of pleasure flared to life in Theo’s chest at Liam’s acknowledgment that he enjoyed their back and forth. _Our thing_ , he’d said. Theo’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the sound of that a little more than he should.

A frown cut across Liam’s face. His fingers snapped a few scarce inches from Theo’s nose. “Cut the crap and focus on the issue.”

“Which is what?”

“I walk in and find you asleep in my kitchen, wearing the shirt I haven’t been able to find for weeks now. So what’s up, Goldilocks? Why are you here?”

A smirk plucked at Theo’s lips. “Well, baby bear”—he shouldn’t have called him that, but the temptation proved too strong for Theo to resist—“this chair isn’t too big or too small; it’s just right.”

In lieu of a reply, Liam rolled those stupidly blue eyes, balled up the empty potato chip bag, and beaned Theo square in the nose with it.

Before the impromptu missile could hit the floor, Theo laughed and caught it one-handed, and set it back on the table.

Thinking on his feet was second nature to Theo by now. The lies he might concoct to explain his presence in Liam’s house started to click and whirl within him. But his head felt like it was stuffed with an entire bag of cotton balls, and Liam stared at him, eyes clear and steady, pulse a metronome, waiting. Under that unflinching blue gaze, something in Theo unclenched. “I came here to take a shower,” he said. The words tumbled out with a sigh. He flicked at the chip packet. Weariness tugged at his bones, as inexorable a force as gravity. Sometimes the truth was the simplest answer.

“Why? What’s wrong with your shower?”

He steeled himself for the inevitable barrage of questions. “I don’t have one.”

“You don’t have a—” Liam’s words cut off, and his nose and eyebrows scrunched in an expression that was fifty percent deep thought, fifty percent constipation; a laugh bubbled up in Theo’s chest at the confusion drawn over his familiar features, but he swallowed it at the last moment.

Liam looked—adorable, his mind supplied; like something worth adoring—but Theo wasn’t in the habit of thinking that way about anyone, least of all this little wolf with eyes that rivaled the sky on a cloudless day, the Pacific and its salt-scented breezes, or some other patently sentimental bullshit.

Sentiment was worthless. Sentiment got you killed. Or worse, for there existed a plethora of things worse than outright death. These were lessons from the Dread Doctors’ Advanced Placement curriculum for living your best life, and Theo had learned them at their feet; at the pointy end of their carnival of surgical instruments.

Theo’s hand lifted. Reached toward Liam’s face. Stopped an inch away when he caught himself and consciously reasserted control. “Careful, Scooby Doo”—he circled his index finger in the air, indicating the vertical grooves between Liam’s drawn-together eyebrows—“if you do that often enough, your face’ll stay like that.” His eyes widened for dramatic effect. “Forever.”

“Shut up.” Liam’s hand pinched Theo’s sleeve and pushed his hand from his face. “And don’t call me that.”

“What? Scooby Doo?” Theo asked, voice lit with unassuming innocence, and waited to see if the arrow hit its mark. (He didn’t have to wait long; he rarely did.)

“Why are you such an idiot?”

“Takes one to know one, Scooby,” he taunted.

A scowl rippled across Liam’s face, and Theo didn’t bother to hide his grin. The scent of Liam’s irritation wafted to his nose, widening his grin. It was so irresistibly  _easy_ to dart in and lodge a barb under the other boy’s skin.

Theo’s forearm landed on the table, and Liam’s fingers slid down from his sleeve and snagged Theo’s wrist, fingers poised in a loose curl around the bones there. The smile faltered, then dropped from Theo’s face entirely, like a heavy curtain had fallen. Liam’s thumb stroked, slowly, only once, under the frayed cuff of the hoodie. Theo’s heart juddered in his chest; it was probably asking too much to hope Liam didn’t notice and wonder about its cause. Lady Luck rarely took his side. Maybe this one time ...

That touch, it didn’t mean anything. To Liam, it was merely a casual thing; a split-second glance at his face confirmed he likely didn’t even realize what he’d just done.

_It doesn’t mean anything._

But it hurt Theo. It felt like blood rushing into limbs that had lost circulation, causing pins and needles. The pain zinged along Theo’s nerve pathways, lighting them up when they’d been dormant for what felt like eons. It hurt worse than the crunch of bone and cartilage that had nearly forced tears from his eyes when Liam had broken his nose three times at the old zoo.

Because this wasn’t a punch; a kick; a bullet; a claw; a scalpel.

Those things he could heal from.

This was Liam.

Liam, who didn’t know—couldn’t know—he wielded a weapon against Theo.

He  _was_ a weapon.

_Skin skin skin._

Liam’s skin.

The torturous glide of it against Theo’s skin.

Bruising. Tearing. Ripping through Theo precisely because the pressure felt light, barely-there, natural and easy. Easy like the rise and fall of Liam’s smiles and frowns. The ones that flared and blinked like fireflies in Theo’s consciousness when he lay poised on the steep edge of sleep in his truck every night, quiet and so very alone but for the galloping cadence of his mind and his sister’s heart.

This was jumping into frigid water and feeling everything freeze. Limbs, muscles, blood, bone, and sinew, all these things transmuted into ice while Theo waited . . . Waited to adjust. Waited to breathe again.

He wondered if being born felt like this; a cataclysm of too-bright light that made him want to slam his eyes shut and hide in cool darkness, and an excess of sensory input the brain struggled to assimilate and make sense of.

He inhaled through his nose, hard.

 _One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four Mississippi, five_ _Mississippi_ , he chanted in his head, so he wouldn’t fling Liam’s hand away from him; so he wouldn’t flip over his arm and clutch Liam’s hand like it tethered him to the world.

_Freak. Pull yourself together. It doesn’t mean anything._

Followed by this damning thought:  _But I want it to._

Inside the solitary confinement of his own mind, where no one but Theo could hear them, his wolf and his coyote howled and bayed, low, mournful sounds issuing from their fanged maws.

If those fingers stroked the pale, vulnerable inside of his wrist again, it would be over.

_Don’t do it. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t._

_Do it. Please. Please. Please. Keep touching me. Please. Please. Please. I need this._  
  
This could break him if he allowed it to, Theo acknowledged to himself in a keen-edged moment of clarity. _Liam_ could break him if he allowed him to, and he wouldn’t need to use even a fraction of his considerable bitten-werewolf strength to do it.  
  
“Awww . . . Liam, if you wanted to hold my hand, you could have just said so,” Theo said in a near purr and watched Liam’s fingers fly from his wrist like he’d been burned. He’d reacted precisely as Theo’d expected him to; he found it a cold, Pyrrhic victory.  

Despite the mocking grin Theo forced his lips to form, a terrible emptiness lay over the place where Liam had touched him. It smarted like a fresh brand. He wished— He wished Liam had never touched him; he wished Liam would touch him again. Two contradictory impulses warred inside him, and if someone put a gun to his temple right then and forced him to choose, Theo couldn’t say which one would win out. Theo flexed his hand, then laced his fingers together in his lap and cracked his knuckles.

How was he supposed to forget what he’d just remembered—how it felt to be touched by another person?

“If I . . .” Liam yanked at the collar of his shirt, his movements graceless and jerky. A finger scratched at the corner of his mouth before he settled for folding his arms tightly over his chest, fingers jumping against his shoulder in an irregular beat. It made Theo’s fingers twitch where they rested against his knees. Liam cleared his throat before he continued speaking. “If I wanted to hold your hand, I would’ve just held it.” Slashes of pink angled high across Liam’s cheekbones, but his gaze met Theo’s without flinching. “Why? Do you want me to hold your hand?” Something like the hint of a challenge sparked in the depths of Liam’s eyes.

Theo searched Liam’s face for signs of mockery but found none. The question settled in the space between them. It gathered weight and seemed to grow larger the longer it sat unanswered. Theo caught his lip between his teeth. His throat clicked as he swallowed against the desert dryness there. Though he scrambled for a snappy retort, aware of the awkwardness that fizzed and bubbled and grew with each passing second of silence, any words he might have spoken died in his mouth in the face of Liam’s steadfast, unblinking scrutiny. Theo hadn’t anticipated this sort of reaction from him.

Theo looked away first.

He’d underestimated Liam.

When he dared to peek at Liam again, he found him staring back at him, a determined set to his jaw. “It won’t work,” he said, and there was a discordant note (of disappointment, maybe?) in his voice. It made heat flash at the back of Theo’s neck. When had he started to care if he disappointed Liam? “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Oh, and what’s that?” Theo asked, careful to keep his tone cool and light, even though his thoughts were anything but that. “Maybe you’d like to enlighten the rest of the class.” With narrowed eyes, Theo pushed his chair back from the table and folded his arms behind his head, aiming for casual.

“You’re trying to hide something from me.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“Really?” That one word carried a wealth of skepticism.  
  
“Yes, really.” Theo shrugged, letting his eyebrows echo the movement of his shoulders. “I’m an open book.”

“Yeah, of course you are.” Liam huffed a laugh edged in something bitter. “Fine. What kind of place are you staying at that doesn’t have a shower?”

“Be careful what you ask. You sure you actually want to hear the answer?”

“Yeah. I’m sure. Tell. Me.” Liam shifted, angling his chair toward Theo. He rolled his hand in a  _get on with it_ motion.

Theo’s hands dropped to his thighs with a clap. “My truck.”

“Your truck.” Liam’s mouth dropped open, and Theo couldn’t help the small flicker of satisfaction that shimmered at this evidence of Liam’s surprise. Theo watched Liam puzzle it out. He could pinpoint the moment Liam put it all together; the moment when questions, half-truths, and speculation finally coalesced into understanding. His brow smoothed out, but his hands shook as they rose to scrub over his mouth and then his cheeks. “You’ve been living out of your truck,” he said quietly, enunciating each word with great care. “You’ve been living out of your truck,” Liam repeated, louder this time, his shoulders held stiff.

“That’s what I said.”

“How long?”

“Since you brought me back.” The words plinked like pebbles skittering off a high cliff, falling and falling until they hit the ground with a distant, barely perceptible ping.

“Fuck!”

Theo flinched at the explosion of sound and looked past Liam, calculating how fast he’d have to move to get around him and out the front door.

“Kira’s mom told me you were my responsibility. And you were.” Liam’s hands clenched in his hair as his voice started to climb. “You are. My responsibility and I fucked up and I’m an idiot and why didn’t you fucking tell me, Theo?” The last words came out in a shout.

“I didn’t come here for this, Liam. I didn’t come here for your self-righteous anger or whatever this is—”

“Self-righteous anger?” Chest heaving, Liam blinked rapidly. “Oh my god, I’m an idiot for sure”—he jabbed a finger at his own chest before pointing it in Theo’s direction—“but you, you’re a fucking moron. You think I’m mad at _you_?” Liam roared.

Liam was stronger, but Theo was quicker. He could probably make an exit before Liam was on him. As he prepared to move, Theo’s muscles tensed. Some part of his thoughts must have shown on his face, however, because Liam’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click a moment before he placed a hand on Theo’s sleeve, stilling him when every instinct he had screamed at him to get out.

“Whatever you’re thinking about doing, don’t do it.” While Liam’s pulse hammered, the pace far too rapid for calm, his words were quiet, even gentle. Control still didn’t come easily for Liam, but the fact that he was still fighting, still trying, and often succeeding, made a twinge of pride rise in Theo’s chest before he cursed himself for being the worst kind of fool and suppressed it. “I’m not... mad at you. I mean, I am, but mostly I’m pissed at myself.” A harsh breath pushed out through Liam’s mouth, ruffling the hair that fell over his forehead. Theo wanted to brush it back, wanted to discover if the strands were as soft as they looked in the sunlit kitchen. If he’d been a different person; if he’d made better choices; if he’d deserved someone like Liam, then he might have reached across the chasm between them. “But you’re right, you didn’t come here for this. You came here to take a shower.”

Theo’s stomach growled, louder than the endless torrent of thoughts churning in his head—loud enough that supernatural senses weren’t required to hear it, and Liam released his light grip on Theo’s sleeve. “You came to my house to shower”—Liam pointed at Theo’s traitorous stomach—“and you’re obviously hungry. You’ve been noshing on salt and vinegar chips, which, ew, disgusting.” And just like that, some of the tension that sizzled and snapped in the air eased.

“What? I like them. They’re good. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Yeah, I think I do. Dude, your breath  _reeks_.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Shoving his chair back, Liam stood and motioned for him to follow. “Come on. I’ll get you some stuff. You can shower now.”

“Then what?”

Liam shot him a backward glance over his shoulder. “Then you can eat something besides stinky chips and may— Maybe we can talk some more.”

“Talk.” It fell somewhere between a question and a statement.

“Yes, talk. Don’t sound so suspicious,” Liam replied, and stopped walking. “Your mouth moves; some words come out. Most of them pretty stupid.”

“Haha. Hilarious, Liam. Really.”

Liam turned until he faced Theo head-on. “Not everything’s a battle, Theo,” he said, his voice pitched just shy of a whisper, driving a shiver up Theo’s spine. His crystalline gaze flickered from Theo’s eyes to somewhere lower on his face, then back up to his eyes again.

Theo fiddled with his duffel straps and studiously ignored how his stomach swooped at having Liam's attention focused on his features that way. “Most things are,” he replied, his voice equally quiet, and compelled himself to look straight into those stupidly blue eyes.

Liam reeled back like he’d been hit, eyes wide and mouth a shaky, downturned arc. His Adam’s apple worked as he swallowed. For a few heartbeats, Theo was certain Liam would say something else, but he simply shook his head, watching Theo with something immeasurably sad in his eyes before he turned and led the way out of the kitchen.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading this chapter. What do you think? If you have the time to share your thoughts with me, I would certainly love to hear them. As a writer, you never know how your words are affecting, or NOT affecting readers unless they tell you. Constructive criticism is always welcome, so even if something didn't work for you, feel free to tell me that.

Regardless, be well. :)

*The chapter titles are borrowed from Richard Siken's "Anyway."

 


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